Caretaking
by Joon
Summary: Morgan deals with an irate Bob in regards to a mildly battered Harry. TVverse


There were times when Morgan wished Hrothbert of Bainbridge was alive and human once more.

So that he could have the pleasure of punching the former sorcerer in the face.

Still recovering from the day's minor battle and having to juggle his unsheathed sword as well as a bruised and bleeding 6 foot 3 wizard, the warden had such a fantasy running through his mind as the ghost continued to rage in his ear.

"For god's sake, Morgan! Did you use him as a battering ram?"

_  
Yes, that's exactly what I did. I used the only other person capable of magic within a four mile radius to knock down doors. Because that would be the smart thing to do when facing off with a Bezoar and her undead army. _

"No," replied the warden instead, through clenched teeth. His headache from earlier doubled in size and intensity.

"Man, Bob, you shoulda seen it," slurred the subject of the ghost's rant. "It was like that movie…Night of the Dead….something. They had these arms!" Harry gestured with one of his own and nearly lost what little balance he had, almost taking Morgan with him.

"Why is he acting half-inebriated?" Bob demanded.

_  
Because after an hour of getting thrown against various corridors of Chicago's sewer system by a mob of Bezoar-spawn possessed corpses, I decided tequila shots were in order. _

"I did an analgia spell on him to dampen the pain," Morgan replied instead, grappling to get a better hold on Dresden without accidentally stabbing him with his sword.

Truth be told, he had done it because without the spell, Dresden would have most likely passed out and the warden had not been about to drag the wizard through a mile's worth of sewage to reach an area where he could teleport them out. The spell had worked, though Morgan hadn't had the time to be exact on the intensity of it. Still, at least the wizard was currently pain-free and conscious.

"Zombies, I'm telling you!" Harry grinned, oblivious to the anger etched on Bob's face or the fact that Morgan was now reconsidering the idea of him being conscious as a benefit.

"And what exactly were you doing when he was getting smashed into walls?" asked the ghost, ignoring Harry.

_  
Taking a nap. Reading a book. Tuning a guitar. _

"I was fighting off the other 50 possessed bodies coming at us," he said instead, talking over Harry's indistinct description of a blonde who would have been pretty cute if she hadn't been a corpse….and trying to chew his face off.

"You agreed to work on this together. How do you stand to lecture him about loyalty when you bring him in for a job and then leave him open for an attack?"

"I can't watch his back every five minutes!"

"You seem to be able to monitor his every move when it suits you," retorted Bob.

"He doesn't seem to fare any better when he's on your watch," gritted the warden.

"I'm dead and can't move four feet beyond my skull. What's your excuse?"

"Hey, people! Are you listening to me?" demanded Harry, waving the arm that wasn't wrapped around Morgan's neck. "I'm talking about zombies here."

"How about you leave the third degree alone for five seconds and tell me where to put him?" said Morgan, reigning in his temper. "The analgia spell is going to wear off soon and he'll be falling asleep then."

"Upstairs in the loft," Bob gestured, shortly.

"Whoa..." The battered wizard looked disoriented as the warden roughly dragged him forward. "Why is the floor moving?" he asked as his head flopped downward.

"Because you're walking," snapped Bob, addressing Harry for the first time. "Or you would be if you hadn't gotten yourself pummeled as usual."

"What're you angry at me for?" asked Harry, sounding genuinely hurt that his zombie story was being ignored in lieu of a brow beating.

Bob sighed heavily. "I'm not angry at you, Harry. Just please stop talking while Morgan gets you into bed."

Harry burst out laughing. "Man, are YOU delusional! The guy doesn't even like me, let alone-"

"Dresden, just shut up and concentrate on the stairs," Morgan cut in.

The next seven minutes were devoted to Morgan navigating the increasing dead weight that was Harry up to the loft area. Bob was already standing next to the bed by the time the two made it up. The warden ignored the still furious expression on the ghost's pale face. All he wanted at the moment was to just be done with this day.

Still, he gently deposited Harry onto the mattress. Whatever drunken energy the wizard had from the analgia spell seemed to have worn off after the flight of stairs and he easily fell back against the soft pillows. Morgan pushed the lanky limbs until all of Dresden was on the bed. While he still looked blissfully painless, Morgan imagined he'd be feeling rather sore in the morning. Sore being a euphemism for every bone in the body aching.

"Wait there," Bob ordered. "I'm going to check him to make sure he doesn't need a hospital."

"He'll be fine," Morgan insisted, moving back toward the stairs. "He'll just have a splitting headache in the morning."

"As I am incapable of doing so myself, if he needs a doctor, you'll be taking him."

"This is unnecessary," said the warden, irritably.

Bob ignored the comment and instead leaned down over Harry who blinked owlishly up at him.

"Hey, Bob. I got to beat up zombies today," he said, looking pleased. "Like, 70 of 'em."

"Yes, so you've told me," the ghost replied. "Now lie still. I'm going to make sure you don't have a cerebral contusion."

"Cool," replied the wizard, closing his eyes.

Gently, Bob hovered his palm over Harry's forehead for a moment before lowering his fingers through until it looked like the entire hand was imbedded in his head. The chill of the spirit's touch seemed to soothe the wizard, who smiled.

"Hey, remember the last time you did this?" asked Harry, keeping his eyes closed.

"Mmm?"

"It was when that Quorth demon threw me head first into that dumpster behind the apartment."

"Yes, and then you did the vanquishing incantation without doing the proper barrier sigils and flew halfway down the alleyway when it exploded."

Harry grinned at the memory. "Yeah, that was pretty awesome."

"If you say so," replied Bob. His expression suggesting it was anything but. "You're fine," he stated, finishing the examination. "You're fine," he repeated, half to himself. A small and possibly relieved smile graced the lean face.

"Nice. Thanks, Bob," Harry replied, sleepily.

Morgan stood by the top of the stairs, listening to the short exchange. The warden had only encountered the ghost a handful of times before. Before when he was still Hrothbert of Bainbridge and still in Justin Morningway's possession. Back then, Morgan would never have believed the damned spirit capable of having any affection for anyone. But what other word would the warden use to describe the look on the ghost's face as he regarded the now slumbering wizard? He wasn't even entirely sure if the ghost's supposed fondness for Dresden was a good thing or not.

Morgan cleared his throat. "If that's all, I'll be going," he stated.

"No, it's not," answered the ghost. While he lowered his voice for Harry's benefit, he didn't lose any of kind of authority in his tone. "Take his shoes off."

"What?" Morgan demanded.

"I can't do it myself and it'll be extremely uncomfortable for him to sleep with them on." Pale blue eyes fixed the warden with a cold stare. "Despite your earlier inability to give him any kind of support in the field, I trust you can manage removing a pair of shoes."

Morgan mentally counted to ten, but walked back to the bed. In spite of his earlier defense, the warden did feel a slight inkling of responsibility over Dresden's current state. Kneeling down by the foot of the bed, he began to unlace the left boot.

"While you're at it, there's a blanket there for him as well," Bob instructed, pointing to the bedspread.

Morgan treated himself to another fantasy in which the ghost was corporeal and satisfyingly punch-able.

THE END


End file.
